Free The Autumn Diaries by Lexi Maxxwell Page A

Ass out. Chest out. Don’t worry; I made that contortion look sexy.  
    He turned fully toward me. He was mailing a single small package that was long and narrow. I found myself wondering if he were mailing someone a dildo. My mind saw him ripping it open and using it on me right then and there, with the post office watching.
    Then the clerk called to him, the line moving uncharacteristically fast. His eyes asked again if I wanted to go, but I demurred with a smile. He did his business, I was called, and we exchanged looks as he left. And that was it; he wasn’t waiting for me outside and I didn’t track him down to fuck him.  
    It was just a random encounter, and in the past, before Sam, I might have taken full advantage of it if he’d been interested, which he certainly seemed to be.  
    But I’m with Sam now.  
    Which doesn’t stop me, in my new profession as a smut writer, from fucking him in my head.  
    So I wrote a story about the sexy blue-eyed Australian fucking me right then, right there, in front of the whole post office. And in the middle of writing and at the end, I shoved my hand down my pants and rubbed my clit until I came.  
    Writing this shit lets me keep fantasy-fucking hot guys while only touching Sam’s cock for real. Best of both worlds.  

F U C K I N G I N T H E P O S T O F F I C E

    NOTE: COULDN’T RESIST WRITING THIS one in first person. Might change it to third person later.

    +++

    There was a smoking hot guy standing in front of me at the post office, with a shaved head and bright blue eyes.  
    I know he had blue eyes because when I came up behind him, he glanced at me in the casual way anyone will glance back at someone approaching them. After that, he turned and took a better, much longer look. Because here’s the thing — even when I’m casual, I look fantastic. I had my hair back in a loose knot. I hadn’t had time to put my contacts in, so I was wearing my glasses. I wasn’t wearing makeup. But because I’m a girl, I of course checked myself out in the mirror even though I was in a rush, and I totally thought that I’d fuck me. I look way cute when disheveled, and honestly, the glasses are awesome enough that I should probably wear them more. I was wearing a strappy little top and a nothing-fancy skirt. I was carrying my shoulder bag, with the strap pressing down between my tits.
    The guy in front of me turned and stared, totally unashamed. He let me know with a smile that I’d tickled his dick and that he would love to tickle me back.  
    “It’s always like this in here,” I said, casually shifting my weight so my tits would stick out more, nudging my sexy glasses into place.  
    The bald guy turned and gave me his bright blue eyes again. He was looking at me as if he was already putting his hands all over me, rubbing my tits through my shirt. I wasn’t wearing a bra. I almost never do.  
    He smiled, and I read a thousand dirty words into his grin.
    “Are you in a hurry? You could go ahead of me,” he said in a holy shit of an Australian accent. I’m a sucker for accents and wanted him to plow me down under. NOW.
    “Oh, no, that’s fine. It’s just so…” I didn’t finish the sentence. We both knew this was small talk, and that the real dialogue was there between our hot bodies. I shifted my weight again. Ass out and chest both out.  
    He turned fully toward me. He was mailing a single small package that was long and narrow. “You seem awfully prettied up for a jaunt to the post office,” he said.
    “Sometimes I meet hot guys in line.”  
    The woman behind me heard me — a frumpy lady with scraggly blonde hair. She probably needed a good fucking to loosen her juices, but I doubted anyone was looking to toss her a bone. The way she looked at me when I said the “hot guys” thing, it was almost like I’d spit in her face.  
    “I’ll tell you something,” he said, and with his accent, I’ll came out sounding like oil . “I sometimes meet hot